A demon from the past

I woke up startled by a crash at my bedroom door.

I switched on the lamp, put one foot at a time out of bed, still dizzy from that startle, and taking the silk robe I had crumpled at the foot of the bed, dressed it and approached the door, my heart racing, wanting to escape through my mouth.

I didn't open the door.

I lifted the eyelid from the door and moved closer until I could see something on the other side. A brownish eye was all I could see.

I jumped back, startled.

I knew that eye.

It was him.

It couldn't be happening.

I tried to calm my trembling hands and approached the door again.

When I look, I see the image of the room door in front, number 411, and a cleaning lady passing by with a cart full of shampoos, towels, rolls of toilet paper, among other things.

I frowned, confused.

It was HIS eye. I was sure of that.

How was that possible?

I gained courage, unlocked the door, and opening it, I am toasted by a friendly "good morning" followed by an "I am sorry if I woke you up". The cleaning lady, a woman in her thirty-something, blond and robust, was opening the door to room 411 to start cleaning it, as the occupants had already left the hotel.

"No problem." I replied, looking up and down the corridor to make sure someone else was there, but I didn't see anyone else. "Sorry, can you tell me if anyone else has been here just now?"

The maid turned and with a sleepy but smiling look, replied:

"No, my lady. I've been here since half past six and no one came by."

I thanked her for the information and closed the door, hastily locking it.

Even though it had been a year since his death, he continued to haunt me. I couldn't take it anymore. I had left my land to be able to start again and try to forget everything that had happened, but he insisted on continuing to be part of my life.

Bastard!

I took off the robe, which fell to the floor as I headed for the bed, sat on its edge and looked at the clock.

06:45.

"Was it a dream?" I questioned myself, frowning, completely confused.

I inhaled for a second and then expelled that air, repeating the action for twelve more times. As soon as I started to feel calmer, I turned off the light, lay down, closed my eyes and waited for my body to fall back to sleep again.

Five minutes later, I heard the same crash again at my door.

I turned on the light.

"A dream was not!" I muttered under my breath.

I lifted the robe off the floor, put it back around my cold, pale body, and went back to the eye of the door.

I lifted the lid and looked outside. There was no one, but the wall next to Room 411's door was splattered with blood.

I froze.

My heart started racing again and I ran to the phone, intending to call the police, but I ended up not dialing the numbers. On the contrary, I put the headset down, filled my heart with air and went to open the door.

I was facing 411, but to my amazement, there was not even a drip of blood on the wall and the cleaning lady was already moving into room 415 to start cleaning it.

I found that very strange. Was I hallucinating? Were the pills doing the opposite?

I didn't know if I was going to bother the maid again with my delusions or if I went back to bed, put some earplugs on and tried to sleep some more, but as I only had another half hour of sleep, I decided to take a shower earlier.

I went into the shower, the water running covered in smoke, completely scalding. I seasoned it, opening the cold water tap a little more and when I felt that it was already good enough for my thin and scarred body, I went under the water and let myself stay there with my eyes closed for five minutes. That warm water felt so well after that sudden awakening. The calm that its heat transmitted to my cold body, still a little shaky from the fright. I should be going crazy. Daniel was dead and buried and I knew that. There was nothing that could bring him out of the underworld to terrify me again. This must have been just the post-traumatic stress that the doctors had diagnosed me with. This mixed with anxiety disorders, was a good dose to hallucinate. Not to mention bipolarity. Anyway, there was no doubt that Daniel's death still affected me, after all, I've been married to him for years. A traumatic adolescence followed by a marriage that at first seemed like a dream but that in the end became a real nightmare. Everything I didn't wish for anyone. I just wanted to forget. His face, touch, voice. Even his smell. I wanted him to burn in hell forever. As soon as I thought about his body crackling in a sea of flames, the water started to get warmer and to burn my skin, which was starting to take on a redder tone. I took a step back and quickly turned off the tap. I was in the middle of that cloud of smoke, barely breathing. As if someone was squeezing my throat, very deep, so that not a single more strand of air could pass by. And when I took the towel to wrap it around my body, coughing dryly due to the sensation of shortness of breath, running over my breath, I noticed, albeit badly due to smoke, a pool of blood under my feet. Draining towards the shower drain. I screamed, scared, and for a moment I thought I was hurt, which made me check some parts of my body for a cut or something that would justify all that blood, but everything was fine with me. That blood was not mine. Its intense smell, mixed with the smell of hot water, got in my nostrils and I started to feel dizzy to the point of slipping in that blood and falling. I hit my head against the white-tiled wall and felt myself go out.

When I regained consciousness half an hour later, my head was pounding from the blow. I put my hand on my head and when I returned it to my eyes, it was bloody. I tried to get up, but I was still very weak due to the fall and I couldn't lift my body. I let myself lie on the floor until I had some more strength to get up. In this, I looked around, since the cloud of smoke was already disappearing, and I noticed that the pool of blood was still there and that I was lying on it. But this time, the blood was mine. My head had a slit that kept bleeding. The blow must have been quite strong. I blinked my eyes when I saw a dark silhouette in the middle of the smoke that was beginning to fade, but as I couldn't see who it was, I said, in a shaky, almost silent voice:

"Help me."

Then the silhouette got closer to me and as the smoke disappeared, it started to take shape. My eyes widened when I managed to assimilate who it belonged to.

"No, no, no..." I shook my head and squinted, thinking I was delusional. I didn't want to see it. This was not real. I was going crazy. When I opened my eyes again, I was alone in the bathroom again, bloody and my head was about to explode. "I hate the dead!" I declared, annoyed that Daniel continued to torment me for so long.

I leaned on the washbasin to try to get up and as soon as I managed to get up, I put on the hotel robe and dragged myself to the reception to ask for help. However, when I got there, there was no one. Neither employees nor customers. It looked like a ghost hotel.

Then I dragged myself a little further to the street. The hotel porter, seeing me bloodied, immediately came to my aid. The outside looked totally different from the inside. All the people who were missing inside the hotel seemed to be there.

"Miss Williams, are you feeling well?" The doorman asked. "Do you want me to call a doctor?"

I shook my head. I just needed a bandage, to rest and to stop dreaming about the dead.

"I am a doctor..." someone said coming from behind us.

I was leaning against the doorman, barely able to keep myself up, when he unexpectedly jumped in front of us.

"I will take care of her from here." He said.

My eyes widened. It couldn’t be true. He was dead. He had to be dead! I killed him!

But there he was, in front of me, smiling at me...

"Did you miss me, honey?"

"How did you…?"

And I blacked out again.